LGBTQ+ Cinema Club

You know when you’re scrolling through movie options, and you stumble upon something you’ve never heard of, and it just… calls to you? That was me the other night, falling down a rabbit hole of obscure 70s cinema, and I surfaced with a real gem: “We Were One Man” (original title: “Nous étions un seul homme”)

Quick Info:

• Title: We Were One Man
• Year: 1979
• Directed by: Philippe Vallois
• Starring: Serge Avedikian, Piotr Stanislas, and
  Catherine Albin
• Language: French
• Where I Watched It: On Dekkoo (streaming service for Gay Men – but I believe you can rent it elsewhere)

Queer-o-Meter:

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 (4 out of 5 Pride Flags)
Rated on how gay it feels — characters, themes, vibes, and quiet longing in a war-torn farmhouse. This one? Gay in that “lonely French countryside, two men find something unexpected” sort of way.

One-Line Summary:

A wounded German soldier and a lonely French farmer hide out together during WWII and end up discovering that intimacy doesn’t care about national borders—or gender.

Standout Scene:

There’s a scene where Rolf tries to leave, and Guy’s reaction is just this raw explosion of emotion – it’s not about politics or war, it’s about not wanting to lose this person he’s become attached to.

Would I Rewatch?

•  Maybe… with wine

Review:

So, picture this: it’s 1943, deep in the French countryside during World War II.We meet Guy, a French peasant who’s a bit of a simpleton, living a solitary life. He’s got a girlfriend in the local village, but you can tell he’s not entirely connected to the world around him. One day, he finds a wounded German soldier named Rolf in the woods and decides to take him back to his cottage to nurse him back to health.

Now, this is where things get interesting. What starts as a simple act of humanity slowly blossoms into something much more complex. As Rolf recovers, a playful and then deeply bonded friendship forms between these two men who are supposed to be enemies.  It’s a classic enemies-to-lovers trope, but with a raw, gritty, and sometimes startlingly funny edge that you don’t often see.

Okay, so this movie is the definition of “slow burn.” Like, actual slow burn, not “we held hands once and now it’s enemies-to-lovers in 45 minutes.” The pacing is meditative, quiet, even awkward—just two men in a farmhouse trying to make sense of each other and the war outside. Philippe Vallois keeps the camera close, so we’re never really allowed to look away from their faces, their hesitation, the moments that slip from curiosity into desire.

Piotr Stanislas as Rolf is fascinating—this young German deserter who’s both vulnerable and unreadable. You can’t quite tell what’s going on in his head, which makes him feel both dangerous and fragile. He’s the “enemy,” but he’s also just a young man caught up in a conflict he may not fully believe in. Through his interactions with Guy, you see his hardened soldier exterior start to crack, revealing a vulnerability that is really touching to watch.

Meanwhile, Guy, played by Serge Avedikian, is an isolated farmer who is a bit of a simpleton and who seems starved for both affection and purpose. He does a fantastic job of portraying a character who is both naive and emotionally intense.

There’s something incredibly tender about Guy and Rolf’s relationship unfolds—hesitant, wordless, and rooted in simple acts of care. Feeding each other, shaving, sleeping in the same room. It’s all so ordinary, which makes it all the more intimate.

The chemistry between Avedikian and Stanislas is what really carries the film. Their relationship develops through a series of shared experiences, from playful wrestling matches to quiet moments of understanding.

The film doesn’t shy away from the physical and emotional intimacy that develops between Guy and Rolf. It’s handled in a way that feels very natural and, for a film from 1979, remarkably progressive. It’s not just about the forbidden nature of their relationship because of the war, but also about the then-taboo subject of a same-sex romance. The movie treats their growing love for each other with a matter-of-factness that is pretty refreshing.

The film doesn’t make grand statements about sexuality—it’s not about being gay in a modern identity-politics sense. It’s more about connection in a world that’s falling apart. Two men finding warmth in each other when everything else is cold and uncertain. But that simplicity gives it power. It’s what I imagine would happen if Brokeback Mountain were directed by someone who’d spent too long in an existential fog in rural France.

I have to say, the tone of this movie is all over the place, in the best possible way. One minute it feels like a rustic romance, the next it’s a surreal comedy, and then it veers into thriller territory.

Visually, it’s rough around the edges—shot in grainy color (colorized?) that feels both claustrophobic and oddly timeless. It’s not polished, but that’s part of its charm. The silence, the long takes, the stillness—it all feels like we’re intruding on something deeply private. There are scenes that linger so long you start feeling self-conscious watching them… and then you realize that’s the point.

Now, fair warning: it’s definitely not for everyone. The pacing can test your patience. Some scenes feel like they were improvised from notes on the back of a cigarette pack. And yet, there’s this raw honesty running through it all—like Vallois was trying to capture a kind of unspoken, forbidden tenderness the world wasn’t ready to name yet.

Final Thoughts:

This film feels like a secret whispered between two men who know it can’t last. It’s tender, haunting, and occasionally frustrating—but in that very human way. I found myself thinking about it for days afterward, especially that last stretch where everything feels both inevitable and tragic.

A warning: this isn’t some happy-ever-after situation. The war exists. It intrudes. Other Resistance members show up at one point, and the tension ratchets up immediately. Will they discover Rolf? Will Guy have to choose between his lover and his cause? I won’t spoil it, but the final act gutted me. Just absolutely destroyed me on my couch at 1 AM.

The ending is both devastating and somehow perfect. It doesn’t wrap things up neatly. Real life doesn’t work that way, and war definitely doesn’t. What stays with you is the memory of those weeks in the cabin—proof that connection can exist even in the worst circumstances.

The Cinema Club Verdict:

⭐⭐⭐⭐
4 out of 5 Pride Flags. Docking one flag for glacial pacing and occasional pretentiousness, but giving major points for emotional honesty and that quiet, haunting chemistry.

If you’ve seen We Were One Man—or have another queer war-era film I need to add to my queue—let me know in the comments or yell at me on BlueSky.

Quick Info:

• Title: Lie with Me (Arrête avec tes mensonges)
• Year: 2022
• Directed by: Olivier Peyon
• Starring: Guillaume de Tonquédec, Victor Belmondo, Guilaine Londez
• Where I Watched It: Streaming (with tissues nearby, because wow)

Queer-o-Meter:

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 (4 out of 5 Pride Flags)
This one radiates quiet queer intensity, lingering heartbreak, and the ache of what-ifs.

One-Line Summary:

A successful novelist returns to his hometown and is forced to confront the ghosts of a teenage love affair that shaped his life — and the lies that silenced it.

Standout Scene:

There’s a scene where Stéphane (played by Guillaume de Tonquédec) looks at Lucas (Victor Belmondo) and, for just a second, you see all the history in his eyes — regret, longing, love, grief. No melodrama, no fireworks, just raw human emotion simmering under the surface. It floored me.

Favorite Line:

“Arrête avec tes mensonges.” (“Stop with your lies.”)
This isn’t just a line — it’s the heartbeat of the film. Honestly, I think the English distributors did the movie a disservice by slapping on Lie with Me. Sure, it works, but the French title cuts deeper, cleaner, and makes the story feel that much more personal.

Would I Rewatch?

•  Absolutely!

Review:

I loved this movie — like, really loved it. It’s not flashy or trying to reinvent queer cinema; it’s quiet, tender, and devastating in the best way. Stéphane is a middle-aged writer, openly gay now, but carrying around the memory of his first love like a wound that never closed. When he’s invited back to his hometown for a literary event, he ends up face-to-face not only with those memories but with Lucas — the son of Thomas, his teenage lover.

The film slips between past and present, weaving together the innocence of first love with the bitterness of everything that was lost. You see young Stéphane and Thomas burning with the intensity of a teenage affair, knowing full well it can’t last, and then you see adult Stéphane, decades later, carrying the scars of those choices. It’s not about grand gestures — it’s about how silence and shame shape a life.

What struck me most is how human it feels. Every look, every hesitation, every suppressed word carried weight. Guillaume de Tonquédec is phenomenal — he doesn’t need to say much to break your heart. And Victor Belmondo (yes, Jean-Paul’s grandson) has this presence that’s both grounding and haunting. Their chemistry isn’t about romance; it’s about inheritance, legacy, and the ways trauma and love pass down through generations.

I found it moving and heartfelt in a way that snuck up on me. By the end, I wasn’t sobbing so much as quietly wrecked, sitting there in that kind of silence where you don’t want to move because the film’s still holding you.

Final Thoughts:

This movie deserves more love than it’s gotten. It’s not loud, it’s not flashy — but it lingers, and it aches, and it reminds you how those first loves never really leave us. The title says it all: stop with your lies. Stop hiding. Stop pretending it didn’t matter. Because it mattered. It always does.

The Cinema Club Verdict:

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
5 out of 5 Stars. I’m giving it the full set because it hit me straight in the heart and I’m still thinking about it.

“You don’t scare us… we’re fabulous!”

Welcome back to the LGBTQ+ Cinema Club, where I dig through my never-ending watchlist of queer films and occasionally stumble across something so campy, so oddball, so gloriously French that I can’t help but grin. This week’s pick? Poltergay (2006), directed by Éric Lavaine. I was in the mood for something silly and fun, and wow—this absolutely fit the bill. Think Ghostbusters meets disco-era fabulousness, but with a very gay twist.

Quick Info:

• Title: Poltergay
• Year: 2006
• Directed by: Éric Lavaine
• Starring: Clovis Cornillac, Julie Depardieu, Lionel Abelanski, Gilles Gaston-Dreyfus
• Where I Watched It: A late-night DVD binge (yes, I still do those—don’t judge)

Queer-o-Meter:

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 (4 out of 5 Pride Flags)
Rated on sheer gay energy, sequined ghosts, and disco lighting. This one’s literally haunted by queerness.

One-Line Summary:

A straight guy buys a house haunted by five disco-loving gay ghosts, and his life spirals into campy chaos while his girlfriend thinks he’s losing his mind.

Standout Scene:

The first time Marc (Clovis Cornillac) actually sees the ghostly gay gang, it’s pure comedy gold: flashing disco lights, synchronized choreography, and five spectral men who look like they stepped straight out of a 1970s club poster. Honestly, I half-expected Donna Summer to appear in a glittery apparition.

Favorite Line:

“We’re not here to haunt you… we’re here to help you dance.”

Would I Rewatch?

•  Maybe… with wine

Review:

Okay, so let’s be clear: Poltergay is not high art. It’s not going to change your life or win Oscars. But as a queer comedy-horror hybrid? It’s an absolute hoot.

Marc and his girlfriend Emma move into a creepy old house. Unbeknownst to them, the place used to be a disco club back in the late 70s—a disco club that, thanks to a faulty wiring accident, ended in tragedy. The victims? Five fabulously flamboyant gay men who never really left. So now, Marc is plagued by visions of polyester suits, booming beats, and ghosts that know their way around a dance floor. Emma, of course, can’t see them at all, which makes Marc look increasingly unstable as he stumbles through his haunting.

The humor mostly comes from that mismatch—Marc panicking while the ghosts are just vibing in the background. It’s campy slapstick with a queer twist, but underneath all the silliness, the movie actually sneaks in some sweetness. These ghosts aren’t malicious; they’re lonely, they’re stuck, and they genuinely want to help Marc (even if their methods involve more mirror-balls than exorcisms).

Clovis Cornillac sells the whole “straight guy losing his mind” shtick pretty well, but honestly, the ghosts are the stars of the show. Each one has a distinct personality—there’s the sassy one, the nurturing one, the fashion-obsessed one—and together they feel like a found family trapped in the afterlife. Watching them bicker, banter, and ultimately support Marc gives the film more heart than I expected.

And I’ve got to give props to the set design. The mix of spooky old-house gloom with bursts of rainbow lights and disco balls is weirdly charming. It’s like walking into The Haunting of Hill House only to find out the ghosts are hosting Studio 54 in the basement.

If I had a tiny gripe, it’s that the movie doesn’t fully embrace its own absurdity. Sometimes it leans too hard on Marc’s heterosexual panic rather than letting the ghosts’ campy chaos shine. But still, the pacing keeps things moving, the comedy lands more often than not, and I genuinely laughed out loud more than once.

So, yeah…

If you’re looking for spooky scares, this ain’t it. But if you’re craving something campy, fun, and unapologetically queer, Poltergay is like a glitter bomb going off in a haunted house. I wanted silly and fun, and that’s exactly what I got.

The Cinema Club Verdict:

⭐⭐⭐⭐
4 out of 5 Pride Flags. Docking one flag because I could’ve used just a bit more actual disco soundtrack (but maybe that’s just me).

So—have you seen Poltergay? Or do you have another campy queer horror-comedy I need to toss on my list? Drop me a rec, or yell at me on BlueSky.

“Sometimes I like to be sentimental.”

Welcome to the very first entry in my new series: LGBTQ+ Cinema Club!

If you’ve followed me for a while, you probably remember my 365-movie-a-day challenge — where I posted a whole bunch of film reviews, one after another, until my eyeballs were basically permanently glazed. I had a lot of fun with it (and watched some truly bizarre things), but I also got some feedback that made me pause. A few readers mentioned my posts were… a tad long. And that the lack of headings made them feel a little like falling into a dense thicket of film opinions. Fair! I did use paragraph breaks (I swear!) but I guess it still got a little heavy.

So this time around, I’m switching it up. For LGBTQ+ Cinema Club, I’ll be breaking my reviews into clean, easy-to-digest sections — like bite-sized pieces of a queer film snack tray. Hopefully that makes things more readable and more fun for everyone. I plan to keep this format going forward, so if you like it, let me know!

Anyway, let’s talk about our first pick: My Life with James Dean — a whimsical little French comedy that made me want to take a long, pensive walk along a windswept coastline and flirt awkwardly with strangers.

 Quick Info:

• Title: My Life with James Dean
• Year: 2017
• Directed by: Dominique Choisy
• Starring: Johnny Rasse, Mickaël Pelissier, Nathalie Richard, Juliette Damiens
• Where I Watched It: Dekkoo – a streaming service for Gay men. They have a lot of art house films.

Queer-o-Meter:

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 (4 out of 5 Pride Flags)
Rated on how gay it feels — characters, themes, vibes, chaotic queer energy. This one? Pretty darn queer.

One-Line Summary:

A sweetly awkward film director stumbles into a seaside town to promote his new gay indie flick and gets tangled up in small-town shenanigans, unexpected romances, and some very charming chaos.

Standout Scene:

There’s this moment where Géraud (played with fluttery-eyed melancholy by Johnny Rasse) is left alone in his hotel room and just… spirals. It’s not dramatic or anything — more like quietly existential. He watches his film alone in bed, mopes adorably, and looks like he’s one sad playlist away from writing angsty poetry in the margins of his travel itinerary. It hit me square in the “wow I’ve totally been there” center of my soul.

Favorite Line:

“Love is always possible, isn’t it?”
Why does this line live rent-free in my head? I don’t know. But it does.

Would I Rewatch?

•  Absolutely ✔
•  Maybe… with wine
•  Once was enough
•  I’ve already watched it 3 times, send help

Review:

Okay, so here’s the thing about My Life with James Dean: it’s not a big, sweeping romance or a high-drama coming-out story. It’s a quirky little mood piece that sort of meanders in the best possible way. The film follows Géraud Champreux, a timid and very soft-spoken filmmaker who’s traveling to Normandy to show his obscure gay film, “My Life with James Dean,” to like, three people and a confused usher. He’s a delicate little disaster of a man, constantly losing his phone, getting stuck in stairwells, and quietly pining for any man who makes eye contact. Basically, he’s all of us.

The town he arrives in feels almost Wes Anderson-y in its weird stillness. There’s a theater manager (played by Nathalie Richard) who’s very intense and very French, a boyish projectionist (Mickaël Pelissier) with dreamy eyes and a motorbike, and a whole cast of oddball locals who don’t quite know what to make of this melancholy gay film they’re supposed to be screening. And somehow, amidst all the social awkwardness and sleepy seaside pacing, this film becomes the backdrop for Géraud’s accidental flirtation with the projectionist, a sweet, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it romance that made my little heart squeak.

This isn’t a movie that throws big plot twists or steamy drama at you. It’s tender. And kind of weird. The characters all feel like they’ve wandered in from different plays but somehow make it work. It’s also got this meta thing going — the film is about showing a film about James Dean, and at one point you start wondering if you’re watching the film being shown within the film, or if time has folded in on itself. (I love when French cinema does this sort of thing without feeling the need to explain itself.)

Visually, it’s charming as heck. Normandy looks overcast and poetic. The soundtrack is spare but lovely. And the acting? Subtle, understated, and a little theatrical — like everyone’s performing in an indie stage play they’re only half-memorized. But honestly? That’s kind of the appeal. There’s something refreshing about a queer film that isn’t trying to make some big Important Statement, but is just vibing with soft longing, creative insecurity, and tender weirdness.

Final Thoughts:

This one snuck up on me. I thought I was in for a slow, artsy detour — and I got that, sure — but also ended up giggling, sighing, and feeling a little fluttery in the chest. My Life with James Dean doesn’t try to impress. It just is. Like an awkward hug from a stranger you accidentally bonded with over your mutual love of Jean-Luc Godard. It’s sweet, strange, and unapologetically queer in its own meandering, low-budget way.

Also, random true fact: James Dean once said, “Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today.” He never actually visited Normandy, but his ghost kind of haunts this film in spirit. (Source: Biography.com)

 The Cinema Club Verdict:

⭐⭐⭐⭐
4 out of 5 Stars. Docking one star for the kind of pacing that makes you wonder if you’ve forgotten to press play.

If you’ve seen My Life with James Dean — or have one I need to add to my queue — let me know in the comments or yell at me on BlueSky.

Until next time,
Stay fabulous and keep watching queer stuff!